by Lin Anderson
I should not have engaged with the girl in the funeral parlour. I did need to see more of the premises, but the girl took too much interest in her ‘charges’ as she described them, and she was inquisitive.
However, I did want to trial the Sins of the Dead scenario and where better than at a funeral parlour? The fact that two of the old folk taking the online forensic course died within days of one another was an added bonus. I fully expected the girl not to report the incidents to the police, because they reflected badly on her and the company. I was therefore quite impressed by her tenacity, although had she been less caring, she might well still be alive.
The lectures are over now. In the final one the professor was openly challenged by the police officers, in particular the tall female, DC Fleming. I’ve seen the professor look at her before, when he imagines no one can see. She doesn’t return his interest.
Or does she?
And she brought up Stonewarrior. How Pirie had failed on that one. How the detective, McNab, had got it right. But she doesn’t know that McNab’s biker girlfriend was down there that night.
I wonder if the detective even knows that?
Yes, I may have got some things wrong, but playing the role of sin-eater was right because everyone has sinned and if they’re going to die suddenly, someone has to remove their sins for them. Plus, it drew in Professor Pirie.
I will miss the course. However, I do plan to submit a topic for my final paper. I have chosen ‘Buried and Hidden Bodies’. I have a month in which to research and write it. I don’t think it will take that long.
Also, I have decided what my next move will be.
It will be unexpected, that’s for certain, but unfortunately people are unpredictable. You can never tell exactly what they will do, and I do have a sense that someone has caught my scent, however well I have covered my tracks.
Still, everything happens in threes in stories, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t in mine.
50
‘Where’s Rhona?’ McNab said, looking around the room.
‘She’s not coming. I’m here in her stead.’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’ McNab’s previous fears over Rhona’s demeanour resurfaced.
Chrissy threw him a ‘you don’t know?’ look, which didn’t help.
‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Rhona’s been taken off the case.’
McNab floundered at this. ‘What the fuck!’
The room was swiftly filling up. McNab was suddenly conscious of all eyes taking in their little tableau as the officers filed in.
‘No one told me,’ he hissed.
‘Rhona only found out from Bill this morning.’
‘Looks like the whole fucking force knows now,’ McNab muttered under his breath at the disguised looks of both sympathy and anger from his fellow officers. ‘They must know it was a set-up?’
‘Bill thinks so, but it’ll be hard to prove. He told her to lie low. I’ll deliver her material and keep her informed. They can’t stop her having an opinion,’ Chrissy finished.
Nor me, McNab thought.
At that point, DI Wilson entered with the Viking. The look on the boss’s face said it all, McNab decided, although in the past that look had tended to be about him.
‘Come on,’ Chrissy urged McNab to follow her to the front, which he did with alacrity, having something himself to contribute to the proceedings.
McNab had never seen Chrissy nervous before, or perhaps she’d just covered it well with her in-your-face patter. She was using notes, probably prepared by Rhona, but she barely glanced at them. Her anger at having to be here in Rhona’s place showed in the steely determination and in the manner in which Rhona’s findings were delivered.
‘Cardiac disturbances after intoxication by yew are ascribed mainly to the alkaloids paclitaxel and taxine B. The taxine alkaloid is absorbed through the digestive tract very rapidly, and the signs of poisoning manifest themselves after thirty to ninety minutes. An infusion made from fifty to one hundred grammes of needles is considered to be fatal as no antidote is known.’
She continued. ‘Yew needles were discovered by Dr MacLeod,’ she stressed the name, ‘between the floorboards in Jackson’s flat. This alerted her to the possibility that taxine might be involved in his death. Up to that point Toxicology had had no idea what to look for.’
Chrissy paused for the importance of Rhona’s role to sink in, before carrying on.
‘How the poison was administered is still not clear. Neither the wine nor the bread at the scene contained taxine. However, he may well have consumed it in a drink earlier and the symptoms of poisoning appeared within the time stated, resulting in death.’
As the pictures of Jackson were now replaced by those of Claire, there was a murmur from the assembled officers, many of who would not yet have seen yesterday’s recordings of the crime scene.
For McNab, the image on the screen only reinforced the one that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his brain. He forced himself to examine it again, none the less, Chrissy’s voice the soundtrack to that terrible moment when he’d thought to find Ellie and had found Claire instead.
‘Claire Masters, who worked at Marshall’s Funeral Home, was discovered sitting against a yew tree in Kelvingrove Park, a branch of yew covering her face, apparently having hanged herself. However, on closer inspection, the context of the locus suggests she did not commit suicide, although an attempt has been made to suggest this.’ Chrissy ended with, ‘As you can see from these pictures of the marks made by the cord on the branch, the body was pulled upwards, not downwards.’
As Chrissy stepped aside, McNab’s focus moved to the boss. Surely he would say something about Rhona’s situation now?
Instead, Bill indicated that DS McNab himself would be next up to speak.
Suddenly in the spotlight and definitely not expecting it, McNab nevertheless knew exactly what he had to say.
The question was would he be permitted to say it?
The place fell silent as he approached the front. Avoiding the boss’s eye, McNab faced the team.
First up, Claire’s visitor.
McNab related Taylor’s story. How Claire’s visitor to the funeral parlour had claimed to know Harry Martin, then said it was a mistake. ‘Claire thought him unkind, because he’d commented on Mr Martin’s girth, suggesting he’d been too fond of food. Subsequently, the remnants of the bread were found on Mr Martin’s body.’
He paused for a moment to let the significance of that sink in.
‘I admit that I didn’t take the breakin at Marshall’s seriously enough. If the perpetrator believed Claire might identify him, that would have put her in danger, especially if Dr MacLeod was viewed making a visit to Claire three days ago.’ He paused again, albeit briefly. ‘I believe I failed to protect Claire Masters.
‘As for Dr MacLeod,’ McNab continued, ‘we all know her work. There is no way she would contaminate a crime scene. We are being played by the perpetrator, and providing a reason to have Dr MacLeod removed from the investigation is part of that.’
The ripples of disquiet in the room had shifted to angry muttering. McNab rushed on for fear the boss would order him to stop.
‘Harry Martin and Stanley Robertson were connected by more than just their chosen undertaker’s. Both men were taking an online course as part of the Diploma in Forensic Medical Science, the exact course Dr MacLeod and Professor Pirie lecture on.’
At this revelation the shit hit the fan. Even as the noise rose in the room, McNab spoke above it.
‘So, instead of persecuting Dr MacLeod, we should be questioning the officers and members of the public taking this course. We should be asking who was party to the brand of forensic suit Rhona favours. Who could have got close enough to Rhona to sample her DNA and use it. That person is playing with us, using the forensic knowledge we probably provided them with. That person killed Andrew Jackson and Claire Masters. That person will likely kill again.’
/> 51
The package sat on the counter where Chrissy had left it when she’d set off for the strategy meeting. Still in its Boots paper bag, it stared back at Rhona, defying her to open it and make use of the contents.
But she wasn’t ready to do that yet.
What she should be doing, in normal circumstances, was conducting an examination of the ligature they’d removed from Claire Masters, but frustratingly that would have to wait until Chrissy returned from the strategy meeting.
Instead, Rhona decided, she would study the sample she’d brought from home, in an effort to discover what Tom had eaten that had made the cat so ill.
As she fetched it from the fridge, Rhona wondered how Chrissy was getting on. They’d gone over the notes she’d made and Chrissy understood perfectly what must be said. The main problem would lie in controlling her righteous indignation at having to appear in Rhona’s stead. Chrissy wasn’t known for mincing her words, but she would have to do so today. The room would be sympathetic, but Chrissy’s fury at what had transpired to bring her there might be difficult to disguise.
With a dismissive and, she vowed, last glance at the Boots bag, Rhona turned her attention to the cat’s vomit. When she’d first spotted it, she’d been more concerned with Tom’s comatose condition and weak pulse. When cleaning it up, she’d paid little attention to the substance, more concerned at the time with getting rid of the smell.
The acidic scent still lingered but not as strongly as before and through the mask it was barely noticeable. Despite this, Rhona experienced again that faint feeling of nausea that appeared to be haunting her.
How could she work like this? She couldn’t even test the cat’s vomit.
Maybe she should go home, like Bill suggested. Have a few days off. The virus would have played out by then, and maybe, just maybe, the powers that be would decide to allow her back to work.
Then again, a small voice said, if it isn’t a virus that’s causing the nausea …
Rhona swore under her breath and determinedly put her eye to the microscope.
As the deposit came into focus, she could discern some of the contents. A wisp of a feather, possibly from the dead seagull, suggesting Tom may have tried eating it. Some part-digested dried food pellets. What looked like an insect, maybe a spider, and something else. Green, but bleached pale by stomach acid.
Her first thought was a blade of grass, but the shape was wrong, being more needle-like in form. Besides which, where would Tom find grass on the roof?
Spreading the mixture a little to get a better view, Rhona noted a darker, redder mass behind, like the outer casing of a berry?
In any other circumstances, her first thought would not have been that the berry might be that of Taxus baccata.
In this instance, however …
Though the flesh of the berries was free of taxine, the seed within was highly toxic. Unbroken, it could pass through the body without being digested and thus cause no harm, but if the seed were chewed or broken, poisoning would occur.
Rhona abandoned the microscope and religiously filled the coffee machine and switched it on, using that methodical task in order to focus her thoughts.
Was it possible that Tom had been poisoned by the seed of a yew?
If so, how could that have happened? Had he been an outdoor cat, it was perfectly possible. Even dead branches trimmed from a yew still held their toxins. Cows had been known to die through ingesting their remains while grazing.
But Tom hadn’t been outside, except for his trips to the roof. And the dead gull had been up there. Could he have ingested something toxic from it?
Rhona glanced at the clock. How long before Chrissy came back? She badly needed to talk to her about this.
She poured a coffee and then found herself unable to drink it. Not nausea this time but a powerful sense that this, if true, was significant in more ways than she could imagine.
Okay. She would go back to the flat and check out the roof, though, of course, without testing Tom’s vomit for taxine she could not be sure of any of this.
Should she request such a test? Or was she simply being paranoid?
Rhona checked the clock again, then contemplated calling Chrissy’s mobile. If she did, then she knew Chrissy would immediately ask if she’d used the pregnancy test.
I will have to admit I haven’t or else lie and say I did and all is well.
As yet, Rhona wasn’t ready to do either of those two things.
Her best bet, she now acknowledged, was to go home immediately. Check the roof. Even as she decided this, she cursed herself for having disposed of the dead seagull. She’d taken the bag down to the bin on her way out this morning. No matter. She could still retrieve it. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d raked around in bins for forensic evidence.
After which I will use the pregnancy test.
52
When the boss summoned McNab into his office after the meeting, McNab fully expected a dressing-down for his outburst, especially since he’d spotted DCI Sutherland at the back of the room, even as he’d been asked to address the team.
Anticipating a rollicking, McNab found himself in receipt of a nod and a half-smile instead.
‘Well done, Detective Sergeant. I believe DCI Sutherland will have to take what you said on board now.’
McNab suddenly understood why he’d been called to the front.
‘You set me up, sir?’
‘I wouldn’t say that exactly, but I was relying on your honesty. And that’s what I got. Officially I couldn’t have said those things quite as freely.’
‘But will it get Rhona back on the case?’
‘They’ll wait an appropriate time to save face, but yes, I believe it will.’ The boss settled into his chair. ‘It appears Jackson was a Cosworth fan, which might account for his visit to the tunnel. IT just located him on a Facebook page for enthusiasts.’
‘Is the wreck in the London tunnel listed on there?’ McNab said.
‘No.’
‘Then the perpetrator may have contacted Jackson via the page to tell him of its existence?’
‘A valid theory and the only one we have up to now as to why he was down there.’
‘Rhona suspected he had walked in there, by the soil deposits on his shoes,’ McNab reminded him.
The boss nodded in a manner that indicated something else was about to be added to the mix. Something, McNab suspected, that concerned him.
‘The footprint near the body was of a biker boot size six.’ The boss waited as though expecting McNab to respond to this. McNab swallowed with difficulty, his throat suddenly dry.
‘Sir,’ he began, but was interrupted.
‘The partial print on the neck threw up a match on the database. Ellie Macmillan’s.’
Fuck. Why was Ellie on the police database?
As though reading McNab’s expression, DI Wilson continued. ‘Her fingerprints were taken because of a breakin at the Harley-Davidson shop late last year, to eliminate the staff from the enquiry. The case hasn’t reached court yet so they’re still on there.’
McNab’s initial relief that Ellie hadn’t been lying to him when she’d said she hadn’t been in trouble with the police was now replaced by the reality of what this was leading to.
‘Did you know that your biker girlfriend had been in that tunnel, Detective Sergeant?’
No point in denying it now.
McNab launched into his story. ‘I spoke to DS Clark two days ago about the bike tracks and asked permission to check with Ellie at the Harley shop if she knew of anyone using the tunnel. She wasn’t there nor at her flat and wasn’t answering my calls. Then she called me late at night. All she said was, “He wasn’t dead,” and rang off. Then her friend Izzy revealed four of them had been down there and seen the body. Ellie looked for a pulse and told them he was dead. They’d freaked out at that and decided not to report it. Then realized someone else had. Since then Ellie’s gone off-grid, sir. Her friend Izzy thinks
she’s gone off on the bike somewhere.’
The boss had listened in silence to all of this, his expression inscrutable. Now he spoke.
‘I want her found and brought back here, Detective Sergeant. And let’s get this Izzy in here and whoever else was in that tunnel.’
McNab knew that was something he should have done himself and sooner than this. The look on the boss’s face only reinforced that.
‘How much of this was DS Clark made aware of?’ the boss now demanded.
‘I asked her permission to contact Ellie about the bike tracks in case she might know who’d been racing down there. That’s all.’ McNab hoped his explanation would be enough to cover Janice’s back.
At that, he was summarily dismissed, his move from hero to idiot accomplished inside ten minutes.
McNab headed for the coffee machine, although something stronger would have been more welcome.
Christ, he hoped he hadn’t landed Janice in it. She’d taken enough shit in the past on his behalf.
His dressing-down by the boss had been well deserved, but McNab still wasn’t sure what he could have done differently.
You should have reported what Ellie said to the boss, just as you did with Rhona. You should have told him you thought Ellie might be the victim yesterday morning. Not Claire.
McNab downed the double espresso but it did little to take the edge off his agitation. Revealing Ellie’s story had only served to remind him of his fear for her well-being. If the perpetrator had seen the girls down there … If Ellie had seen him and hadn’t told the others, just like she’d lied about Jackson being dead …
The boss had ordered him to find Ellie. McNab desperately wanted to do that, but he didn’t see how it was possible.
Ollie had run a trace on her mobile and got nothing. If she’d gone AWOL then the likelihood was she’d switched the mobile off so he couldn’t locate her. Alternatively, she’d truly gone off-grid where there was little possibility of a signal.
And there was plenty of opportunity for that in the more remote parts of Scotland.
Then again, a single biker was more noticeable than one in a group. Maybe Ellie was hiding in a crowd? Every biker looked the same in the waterproof gear and helmet.